We are made up of a unique combination of tiny moments melded together and held in place by timorous tendrils. Some tendrils break and the tiny moments are lost, others grow thick and strong from constant use, and moor us fast to the memories most looked at.
There are others that seem to be floating free, appearing out of the dregs of the memory without prompting; a gentle inconsequential moment like crunching through autumnal leaves, or a heart-breaking shock of a flashback, flinging you defenseless into the past. Whether these moments are tinged with fear, anger or love, a reminder of terror or a tender tryst, they are all devastating in a way. Tethering us to what happened before, with no guarantee that we will learn from our nostalgia as we tiptoe into the future.
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